


Influence of Gravity

by taizi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Dave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taizi/pseuds/taizi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're the luckiest asshole on the planet, because even though John's the light of everyone's life, <i>you're</i> the one he comes home to every day. The Game's over, you have a great apartment and a shitty job, everyone who matters is only a phone call away, and John's blue eyes are one of the first things you see every morning- you're happier than you have any right to be.</p><p>And then John gets hurt, the world comes crashing down less literally than before but still somehow harder, and you kind of don't even know what happy means anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Your name is Dave Strider, and you know the moment you answer your phone something is _wrong_.

"John- Jesus Christ slow down I can't understand you." But the voice on the other end of the line is choked and sobbing and you're already in motion, cramming your Chuck Taylors on with your left hand, your cell gripped tightly in your right. Karkat's sitting upright on the couch, where he'd been slumped two minutes ago, Xbox controller discarded. His eyes are following you, mouth drawn into a thin line, and you ignore him in favor of shrugging into a jacket halfway, unwilling to take the phone from your ear even just to pull on the second sleeve. "John, breathe- you have to calm down, breathe, okay? Where are you man, I'm on my way."

At this Karkat stands, and he's grabbed your keys. Karkat has _always_ had a soft spot for your roommate, even if he denies it. You spare him a nod, and hold your breath when John's voice hitches a little, and you make out a distressed, _"Dave- Dave, please. I don't. I'm- it h-_ hurts _, it- "_

Your body is numbing, vision tunneling, and the only anchor you have is the phone in your hand. "John _where are you_."

 _"I'm- I don't know, I- they dragged me to this, alley, I think, I don't know- "_  
  
You think your chest might explode in an anger so violent it should surprise you, but it doesn't really. No one touches John. "Where were you before? Do you remember where you were?"  
  
There's a pause, you hear him pant, like he's trying to get his hysterics under control. _That's it, buddy._ Karkat leads the way out, bypassing the elevator for the stairs, guessing correctly that the elevator would take too fucking long and standing still, even just for a minute in the elevator car, is just not an option right now.  
  
Pounding down four flights of stairs, you prompt John with the question again, and he finally responds, sounding a little more sure of himself. "I was walking home from class. I stopped at that, um- convenience store? With the three dollar DVDs?"  
  
Immediately flashing in the front of your mind in perfect detail was the text he sent you almost a full two hours ago: _Free willy or boondock saints?? :)_ and you're about to be sick. But you know _exactly_ which store that is, and you pile into your old pickup and snap directions at Karkat, who starts the engine and tears out of the parking lot with gratifying speed.  
  
You should have picked him up from fucking class.  
  
"Okay, we're a few minutes away, Karkat's driving like a man on a fucking mission. You said an alley, right?"  
  
"I... I think so, I... I'll try to- "  
  
"You stay the fuck still Egbert, don't you fucking dare move." You have no idea how badly he's hurt, you have no idea if he's somewhere safe, but the last thing you want is your best friend crawling through the city streets in the middle of the fucking night.  
  
Karkat runs a red light and you're abruptly really glad he's there. After a few turns he knows which store it is, and when he pulls into the parking lot, you jump out of the truck before he has a chance to slow down or park.  
  
"We're here, we're looking." There's no answer but labored breathing and you grit your teeth. Karkat has a flashlight app on his phone, and the two of you take to the dark streets. You've never been an overly cautious person, something like walking home alone in the dark has never bothered you much to begin with, and  _especially_  not after the Game. Everyday dangers sort of lose their edge when you've lived through the end of the world.   
  
You never considered something like this could happen. Not to John.

Karkat hasn't said a word since you answered your phone- and that in itself speaks volumes for how worried he is since normally he doesn't shut the fuck up- when suddenly he shouts and sprints forward just as John mutters from the phone _"Is that you?"_ and you were already flying after Karkat on pure reflex, matching his speed because fighting together in a war that spanned the whole universe left its marks on all of you, but John's fearful voice in your ear has you moving even faster toward the crumpled form on the corner. 

  
John is struggling to push himself upright, impossibly blue eyes locked on your face, already spilling tears. His clothing is torn, his face is cut and bruised, he's cradling one wrist, but his eyes are on you and he sobs, "Dave."  
  
You drop to your knees beside him hard, and his hands are shaking as they grip your sleeves.  
  
"What the fuck happened." It was Karkat who asked, and you send him a sharp look, because it's cold and John's shivering and you just want to get him home. But something in his face makes you hold your tongue.  
  
He looks like he's being forced to watch something precious burn.  
  
John's only answer is to sob a little harder, a feat you didn't even think was possible, and you decide fuck this after all, and make to scoop him up.

He cries out, flinching away from you, and you jerk your hands off him, though he keeps his grip on your shirt, injured wrist be damned. Karkat takes John's chin, forcing his face around. With a pang you notice his glasses are cracked.  
  
He doesn't repeat the question, and you just sit with John more or less in your lap, putting your arms back around him carefully when he curls into your chest. When he finally speaks, its quietly, against your neck, but you catch every word.  
  
"There...there were four of them. I tried to- but there were four of them. They kicked me around and." John's voice was starting to sound a little detached, like he was describing a story he'd seen in the paper instead of what had just happened to him. Suddenly it feels like you've swallowed dry ice. And you know what's coming without knowing how, and you tighten your grip on him like he's about to disappear.  
  
"They held me down. Took turns. It hurt. It _hurt_. Oh, _god_ , oh god, Dave." He's crying silently into your shoulder, letting go of your shirt to wrap his arms around himself, and that's as far as he can go. "Dave. Dave, it hurt."  
  
With a quiet beep, Karkat's flashlight app dies.  
  
And you sit there, with the best thing that ever happened to you sobbing, broken in your arms.


	2. Chapter 2

You ended up carrying John back to the truck, and then half-carrying him into the ER because for the life of you, you _can't_ let go. He shrinks against you once you're inside, and Karkat, thank god for Karkat, is already talking to a nurse.

You're dazed as you stand in the small waiting room with John shivering in the circle of your arms. You can't really be there, not really. This sort of thing belongs in a Lifetime movie, it doesn't happen to people like you.

"I don't want to," John says suddenly, and the fear in his voice goes that extra mile just to break your heart. Under the sterile white lights his face is battered and bruised. "I want to go home."

"Right after this," you promise, feeling like an asshole. You want to go home, too. "Right after we make sure you're gonna be okay." Karkat's back, shrugging off his hoodie to hand it over to you. You make short work of wrapping it around John's much smaller shoulders just as a nurse or doctor or whatever comes in to lead John away, reaching out to put a guiding hand on his shoulder.

Oh hell no.

John makes a sound as close to a whimper as it needs to be, and Karkat bristles like an angry cat, lips pulling back into a snarl.

"Don't touch him, asshole."

Wisely, the man stops, and holds his hands up. "Okay," he says slowly, understanding, looking right at John because this is all his call. "It's okay if they come along."

Which is good, because you physically _cannot let him go_. You weren't there when he got hurt, but you're there now. You walk with your arm around his shoulders, and Karkat walks on his other side. John's breathing evens out considerably, but he's pale and wincing and his face looks fucking shattered.

When you step into a small room, and the door closes quietly, he clutches the oversized sweatshirt around him a little tighter and starts shaking again. The nurse is being fucking awesome, the way he's talking to John is good; not treating John like something pathetic or broken, talking instead to John like something incredibly shitty just happened and the world was a giant bitch, but it wasn't John's fault and he'd be okay. He reiterates the okay part a few times.

Maybe more for your benefit than John's, because the nurse is sending you a few worried looks of your own.

John is answering all the man's questions, but he can't seem to look him in the eye, poor fucking thing, and without thinking you lean over to turn his face towards you. You remove his broken glasses and hand them off to Karkat, who folds them carefully, and you replace them with your aviators, sliding them gently into place and effectively hiding that perfect blue from the world.

He squeezes your hand, mouth trembling, and you know he knows what you did for him. When he faces the nurse he does so unflinchingly, and you sit beside him.

You wish you could do more.

Karkat is the one asking most of the questions, probably unsurprisingly, his voice like a knife. You're trying to pay rapt attention because this shit is important, but the only thing you can focus on is John's slender fingers curled vice-like around yours.

He's still wearing the stupid plastic Snoopy ring you got out of a quarter machine in the library atrium a few days ago. You were almost kicked out because you presented it to him on one knee and he covered his mouth and said "oh Dave!" and when you grabbed him and pretended to try to kiss him he laughed and laughed.

Something hot works its way into your throat and you brush your thumb over Snoopy's stupid face.

John answers most of the questions he's asked, but occassionally his voice will crack or falter, and you'll hug his shoulders.

"Almost done, buddy," you tell him, "and we'll go home, okay?"

The nurse gives you a look, then John, and puts his pen down. "Have you filed a report with the police yet?"

Karkat answers; "I called." You look at him in wonder, then vaguely remember the ride to the hospital, his phone to his ear, eyes oddly bright in the dim light of the truck's cabin. "If John is up for it, we'll go in tomorrow."

"That's just fine- take all the time you need. But as awful as it sounds, if you're going to take action, it's better to do that while the events are fresh in your mind, so you don't leave out any important details." The man's eyes are firm. "It's your right to press charges, but it's also your right not to- it's your choice, John. I'm going to examine you, and go ahead and get the samples I need for the police while I do, so you won't need to come back in, okay?"

He looks like he's about to reach over and squeeze John's arm or hand but thinks better of it, and instead opens a drawer and rifles through it. "You can get help. There are compensation funds and help lines, agencies that will pay for counseling if you're interested." He hands out a brochure, and John looks like he's 100% _not_ interested but you take it and stuff it in your pocket.

The nurse stands and beckons for John to follow him to the examination bed. John stands, slipping his hand out of yours.

And the way he suddenly won't look at you- the way he gestures at the curtain with a quiet word, and lifts himself onto the bed as the nurse draws the section closed, cutting John from sight- scares you.

You've seen him without a shirt before- you've seen him practically naked before. You live together, you're best bros, you have a shared sense of who-the-fuck-cares-if-I-don't-wear-pants-today, so yeah, you've seen a lot of John's body, and vice versa, and John has always been comfortable around you. It sort of kills you because you've got a crush the size of Mount Rushmore and John's got a bad case of boiling frog syndrome, but you'll take the friendship he offers like it's a goddamn Harry Winston sapphire or some shit because you're lucky just to fucking _know_ someone like him.

But he closed the curtain.

"He's hiding from us," Karkat said, voice rough and angry and something else you can't define, speaking exactly what you were trying not to think. "He's going to hide from us for a long time." His fists clench. You realize abruptly that despite your daze and shock and disbelief, Karkat has been feeling the sharp burn of reality this whole time, and it's in the way his hands are shaking and his eyes burn.

It takes almost an hour; you can hear the man talking gently and John's wavering responses. But then the curtain rattles back against the wall and John is hurrying back to you, aviators too big for his face, jacket too big for his shoulders, face and wrist bandaged lightly, wearing some white scrubs instead of the clothes he'd had on under Karkat's hoodie; you stand to meet him, folding him back into your arms. 

The nurse has a kit that he's folding up, and he's scribbling something on the tag. John's fucked up clothes are folded in a plastic bag behind him. "We'll get this to the police as soon as you're ready," he says like he's taking a fucking oath, and you nod. 

John moves everyone he meets. The nightstaff at the ER are no exception.

The nurse writes his information down on a card and hands it to you, along with a bag of medicine and gauze, and what looks like a folded list of instructions inside, and you're done. You lead the way out the door, John tucked close to your side.

Karkat starts the rumbling engine, and John reaches out and touches his arm, a touch that probably feels more like a butterfly coming in for a landing with the minimal amount of pressure John's putting into it. But he pushes the aviators up onto his forehead and his eyes barely stutter when he looks up into the former troll's face.

Karkat growls at him, but there's nothing sharp in his voice when he mutters, "You don't have to thank me, idiot."

The rest of the ride home is silent, and even with John's hand in yours, you can't fool yourself into thinking that it's gonna be okay.


	3. Chapter 3

John couldn't sleep, and you didn't want to-  _couldn't-_  let him out of your sight, so you spend the night on the sofa. Karkat stayed over for the night, sitting on the floor with his back leaned against your legs; Casey's sprawled in his lap, dead to the world, and the former troll is repeatedly opening and closing his piece of shit flipphone in what you're beginning to realize is an anxious tic.

Disney Channel is running a classic movie marathon and you keep that shit locked. The only time you move is to pull John a little closer when he shudders.

It feels surreal to be sitting here in your living room at four o'clock in the morning watching Cinderella after the fucked up night you just had. You wish you knew what John was thinking, wish you could see his face, wish there was a fucking cheatcode for this that would give you all the answers you need, but there isn't, and the only thing you can do is sit there and wait for him to need something from you.

When Karkat flips his phone shut again, it occurs to you suddenly that it's completely on you to let the girls know what happened, which is shitty. You don't want to. You don't want to talk about this ever, and you're already dreading the visit to the police station in just a few hours, but you know better than to think that- or this- is something you can get out of.

They deserve to know, because it's John, and John's theirs just as much as he's yours. And you're out of your depth here, and consistently less than a second away from a full-blown panic attack, and you can't remember a time you'd ever wanted to talk to your sister more than you do right now.

Rose would know what to do; Jade would know what to say. And all John ever needed from you is  _you._ He'd burrow close and soak up and seed away all the comfort he needed, and all you ever had to do was let him.

As in all things, the four of you are a team, and right now you  _know_ \- better than you know what the sky looks like when it starts to fall- that John would be in much better hands if it was the six of them rather than just your two.

"We gotta call Rose and Jade," you say after awhile, your voice something loud and harsh as it broke the relative silence, eyes trained on the television screen- and after a moment, when the ballgown has turned to rags, and the king's horses trample the once-magic pumpkin into pieces, John finally nods against your arm.

* * *

John is poking through mugshots, still stammering his way through a "brief description of his attackers," and you have a hand locked on Karkat's wrist at this point because he's starting to look a little feral.

But seriously, do people have to stare? Does that woman applying for a restraining order three desks down  _really_ have nothing better to do than oggle at a blue-eyed kid wearing a giant hoodie with a ridiculous Gemini patch on the left sleeve, bruises like stickers all over his face?

John hasn't looked up from the files yet, but you can see him start to bow under the weight of the crowded room; a dozen open windows of harried conversation, people passing behind and around him, faces and hands and too many bodies pressed into the cramped, bustling bullpen.

His shoulders hunch, his arms beginning to curl around himself, the blue sky in his eyes shuttering closed with something like rain clouds.

"Fuck this," you mutter with feeling, and lean over to shove the folder back across the desk. "We're not doing this here. We're just not." The detective's mouth is tugged down into a tight frown, looking wrong-footed by your sudden un-cooperation, and you can't actually believe you have to say, "Are you fucking  _blind?"_

"Dave it's okay," John says suddenly, a little too quiet, and Karkat actually leans around you to pap him on the back of the head.

"Don't be a fucking idiot, Egbert, this is as not okay as it fucking gets. I had no idea it was possible to fit this many humans in the same fucking room at the same time, or, for that matter, that this many humans would  _want_ to fit in the same fucking room at the same time, but the lesson has been learned on my part, I shit you fucking not."

Like always, what Karkat's actually trying to say gets lost in translation somewhere, and you trace John's fingers with yours as he tries to puzzle through it- but you're watching the nonplussed detective follow Karkat's gaze to John, and you see it in the man's face when he understands.

"Oh, god," he says suddenly, and he looks sorry, and about thirty years older, and weary down to his bones. He casts a quick glance around at the busy room, meets a few of the curious stares. "I'm so- let me pack all this up, there's an office we can borrow on the second floor. Get away from all this noise."

Once they're tucked in the little corner office, John in a seat facing the window with the sky in his immediate line of sight, sitting to your left with your chairs pushed so close together your thighs touch, while Karkat leans over his opposite shoulder; John separates two pictures from the stack. "Them. The other two aren't here."

His hands don't shake, but his eyes are wide, the blue in them electric with something that isn't close to fear anymore.

You memorize every contour of the rugged faces, not much older than yours, but deeply lined and dark. Karkat mutters something under his breath, you're not even sure it was English, and the DT makes several notes before he pulls all the files away.

"We'll track them down," he says severely. "I'll put out an APB, call you the moment we have them in custody. We've received all the lab evidence we need from the hospital, so this should be fairly cut and dry. It shouldn't be hard to find the two they acted with." He hands John a business card that John passes to you almost immediately, and then the detective hesitates. "I'm...very sorry about earlier. It sounds terrible, really terrible, but it's easy to get caught up in the mechanics and forget that behind the crime there are people who've been hurt- "

"I understand," John says kindly, sounding very like himself, and leaves it at that.

But he can't hold the man's gaze for long, and his eyes are stuttering back to the tabletop within moments.

Karkat sends you an anguished look over the top of his head, and when John's hand finds yours, you squeeze it tight.


End file.
